


Choosing Life Because Love is Real

by qembee



Category: SPN, Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant Until Cas Is Sent To Super Mega Turbo Hell, Canon Continuation, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Dreams, Eileen Leahy Deserves Better, Eileen Leahy Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester - Freeform, Episode Fix-It: s15e19 Inherit the Earth, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, F/M, Fix-It, Imagine if they pulled reverse homophobia and had a secret episode, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e18 Despair, Saleen - Freeform, The Empty (Supernatural), The Shadow (Supernatural) - Freeform, rip supernatural, where deancas be gay and do crime and saleen are iconic allies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:08:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27847438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qembee/pseuds/qembee
Summary: Iconic SPN fix-it rewriting from the moment Castiel is slurped by the Empty also Destiel/Saleen is endgame :)We bringing back dead characters from the Empty, killing Chuck, and revisiting BillieJack doesn't become God at all (because realistically, why would Jack become God anyway)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 7





	1. There Is Nothing Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone just vanished. Sam and Jack get back to the bunker to find Dean alone.
> 
> Song recc: me-al art - 忘れな草 (forget-me-not)

Castiel knelt, the empty swallowing the empty.  
It began at his knees, coveted by their cleanliness.  
His fingertips trembled against the surface below him. It was nothing. The envy rose over his thighs and past his hips.  
He looked to the sky, feeling frost trickle-up along his jaw, past his lips and down his throat. It engulfed his chest.  
There was no comfort as his memories slipped away from him.  
Then there was nothing.

\--

Sam's footsteps cascaded across the bunker as he frantically sprinted down the main stairs, gripping the steel black railing with Jack on his heels. He immediately swung left, past the archway, and into the small artifact storage room, finding a familiar brick wall where the door to Death's library should have been. 

"They will be okay, Sam." Jack huffed, taking in a breath as his pale hand caught Sam's shoulder with brief compassion, though his words were unsure. The tension between the writhing wrinkles of fabric splayed against his palm, the cold prickle of fear shared between them speaking to something larger.

Sam nodded, wordless and focused as he shoved past him, his shaking hands betraying the uncertainty behind his determined eyes. The emptiness of the planet outside slithered across the unsettlingly peaceful atmosphere of the bunker, making a home in the dust of the once well-maintained libraries and collections of artifacts. The rich, lived-in history of the brick walls revealed nothing of Dean and Castiel's whereabouts. There was no blood or scattered papers about the study tables. Besides that, the Key of Death was nowhere to be seen. He drew past the agape metal door into the musty pea-green tiled halls as Jack backpedalled through the dining area. As Sam examined the doorframe, a gleam from the buzzing fluorescent lights above settled in a nearly unnoticeable crevice in the wall. He dragged his fingertip along the slim scraped surface, swarmed by a gruesome vision of his brother dying alone, his hot blood pooling on the cool surface under him. Sentenced to the Empty by Billie, and then Castiel's body would be beside Dean's, the two of them left to rot in one of the unused or hatches among the bunker's endless list of hidden rooms.

"Jack!" Sam's coarse voice bounced off the concrete walls, booming towards the young man who within moments scrambled to his side.

Sam's breathing shallowed, "Billie-" A cold wet fear stirred in his veins, spreading through his limbs; a bitter breeze he hadn't noticed before made his hair stand on end, before finally clutching on the inside of his chest. He felt the press of his skull and pounding in his ears harder than when Lucifer had possessed Castiel and tore into his torso to his soul. The memory of the searing soul essence dripping around his hand; an oozing celestial honey like a shadow of electricity in his torso closed his throat with terror. He gritted his teeth and leaned against the wall, which he was fairly certain was closing in on them. Everything was closing in on them. Jack's gentle hands cupped his face, his warm captivating eyes suddenly in view. He said nothing as he took a deep breath, staring at Sam. Sam returned his steady gaze shakily, feeling his weak nerves regain control of themselves. Not willing to lose another minute, Sam seized Jack's hands fondly and brought them back down to his sides.

"Thanks."

Jack, despite his own worry, gave a small pressed smile, the corner of his lip hinting upwards before he turned away. They moved down the hall in quick strides, turning corners and opening every door they passed until Jack bumped into Sam's back beside the archive room. The taller man signalled Jack to imitate his careful approach from a distance, creeping forward, when his eyes locked onto the unsealed entrance deeper in the room.

"Dean?" Sam started timidly, teetering towards the opening when he saw him slumped against the wall, his phone face down a foot away. He broke into a fleeting scramble where Dean sat on the chill floor. He kneeled down and pat Dean's cheek briefly, comforted by the familiar scruff on his brother's face, before resting his palms on his shoulders. He briefly analyzed his ]tattered shoes and messy hazel hair, reassuring himself that this was real; that Dean was in fact in front of him.

Jack stood frozen between the metal shelves which would normally hide the torture dungeon. He tensed as he looked to his left, seeing the bloody warding spell, the dark, painted symbol barely visible on the back of the chocolate door. Dean didn't look up at them.

Sam let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. There was no visible blood or scratches, not even a bruise. He was okay. "Dean, they're all gone, everyone. Not just-" He loosened his grip on the thick olive fabric bunched around his brother's arms, noticing a harsh flushed red surrounding Dean's wide eyes, painting his increasingly pale face. Dean glanced at Sam. His eyes were blank, tinged pink and glassy, their green depths' struggling to cage his welling grief. Sam hesitantly released his shoulders, choosing to delicately rest his fingers atop the fabric covering his forearms. The ringing fear in his ear was returning. Dean grimaced. His fists were tight, in striking contrast to his hanging shoulders. Sam stared until Dean looked away, feeling the pained breaths resonating upwards from beneath him. His own caught in his throat. Dean was not okay.

Jack looked back at them with panic in his eyes and took a few steps closer hesitantly.

Sam's head tilted as he narrowed his eyes. He took a sharp breath, "Where's Cas?"

There was a bitter, century-long silence before Dean swallowed his defeat and looked up, worn. His mirthless smile clung faintly to his head as it bobbed slightly side-to-side, like a buoy in the waves of an endless ocean. "I thought it was Billie- it wasn't. It was never her. It was Chuck."

Sam gasped. He moved wide-eyed backwards along the floor, his forehead wrinkled, until he was half-kneeling, "What?" 

Jack's voice cut in, rigid, "Dean, where is Cas?"

Dean covered his face with his hands and gave a stuttered laugh into his palms. Even without tears, his attempt to hide them made it clear they were sobs. He cleared his throat and slowly lowered his hands, dragging them up against his rough jeans and squeezing his knees. He focused his gaze unimportantly on Sam and Jack, nodding as he spoke, almost distant, "He saved me. Billie already had a death sentence, when we got there, she told us that the scratch from the scythe was lethal. Then she was coming after us and-and we got here. Cas tried to stop her, he put up warding but, it didn't last." Dean shook, straining against his tightening chest. "He summoned the Empty. It took her. It took him."

Sam leaned back apprehensively. He brought a hand to his knit brows and quickly looked away. He stood and turned around, vision blurred. Jack shook his head and sauntered forward.

"Cas is gone." He stared at the grey concrete brick wall where the empty had appeared then to the dark sigil on the floor, averting the boys' gaze. They were reduced to three. 

Sam knew that look, the look Dean used to get over it. The stern voice, imitating their father, using the resolve of an army-man to fight his downturned eyes. This attitude, Dean thought would cover his self-deprecation, his obsession with years of failure; The fact that he couldn't solve everything Chuck threw at them. But _this_ wasn't something that he's meant to get over, to forgot or ignore. This wasn't the time to unpack his trauma either, but it definitely wasn't the time to bottle his emotions. 

"No," Jack choked out. He kneeled down beside Dean and wrapped his arms around him, squeezing desperately. "No. . ."

Dean pressed his nose into Jack's shoulder, his arms reached up and clutched Jack in return. His breaths shuddered but his eyes were dry and his voice brittle. "I'm sorry." 


	2. Foundations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay ill let you guys cry for ONE more chapter its time to go win n save all your friends like you have every other season
> 
> Song recc:  
> The Crane Wives - The Hand That Feeds  
> The Crane Wives - How to Rest

Dean gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white. His breath wavered as it escaped his mouth. Unmoving, the impala's headlights stabbed through the darkness blanketing the cold forest outside the Men of Letters bunker, slicing through the hideaway of night with hot glaring defiance. Its wheels tucked into the gravel road like they were used to this environment. Dean stared forward, jaw clamped shut, threatening to shatter his teeth.

His muscles twitched as he felt tears prick at his eyes, he saw the Empty's black talons snaking toward Cas weightlessly, he hissed as his mind refused to tear away from the image. The walls started rising, their pale bricks repeating seamlessly, surrounding them, towering over and under them, and Dean didn't think he had vertigo before but he definitely did now. The branches of the trees swayed from the street side against the starry black sky. Dean thought he would vomit, feeling them tenderly circle him. Then Castiel crumpled, and Dean knew something was wrong, but he was too heavy. His muscles barely peeled off the cool basement floor as gravity tied him down to the scene. Why did it sound like an ocean was hiding nearby? He was sprinting and his feet were slipping in their speed, falling. Again, on the ground; he wanted to scream, tell Cas to run, but his chest ached like water was rushing over him and he was too exhausted to breathe. Gravity flooded over his head and pulled his body to the floor; his arms refused to battle the currents, obey him. He was too tired to want to fight anymore. Unwanted, the blackness wrapped around the impala and leaked through its vents. Satisfied by its devilish taunting, the Empty and Castiel vanished. _Why didn't it take me?_

"Fu-uck!" He screamed into the silent reality and barrelled his fists against the wheel, the woodland creatures scattering. His voice rose through his windpipe and dragging scratches up his vocal folds like broken glass as it escaped. It sounded unfamiliar. The chill of night rest on his damp face. He didn't notice when he ran out of breath. The tears glossed across his skin and collected at his chin, dripping through to air to puddle on the material covering his thighs. Dean broke the stillness and jerked his hands off the wheel, bringing his trembling hands to hastily wipe away the weakness. He thanked the trees as they unknowingly hid his presence from the rest of the world. He wrapped his arms around himself, grabbing his triceps. The night cradled him.

\------

"Dean?" Sam turned around in his chair, eyeing the door as it clicked shut behind Dean, as he calmly descended the stairs and ran his hand through his hair. 

Dean closed his eyes and gave a brief broad smile, strained. Wordlessly, he nodded curtly to Sam and faced intentionally away as he floated by, headed directly to his bedroom.

Sam rubbed his eyes wearily, his nerves shot. He swallowed down grief as he watched Dean pass by, his fists clenched to the point of bruising; then he turned the corner and was gone. Sam pushed the seat back and shut his laptop closed, forgetting whether he'd actually done anything the 30 minutes after typing into the browser. He couldn't talk to Dean right now, despite everything in his spirit that begged him to scream out his questions, but he could talk to Jack.

Jack's door was deliberately cracked open, inviting, but intimidating nonetheless. Sam wrapped his closed hand against the wood and slowly pushed it open, revealing Jack's slouched form seated on the edge of the neatly made bed. The sheets were pure white and unwrinkled, either obsessively refolded or yet to be slept in; Sam hoped the former. "Hey, Jack."

Jack peered over his shoulder and regarded him with a half-frown. Sam slowly shut the door, stepping forward with his arms crossed. Jack studied the floor before speaking suddenly, as though he'd been holding back an answer, "I'm sorry about Eileen." 

Sam's breath hitched. He clasped his palms together and squeezed. Jack scooted over, making space for Sam. He let go of the pressure as he approached, releasing a deep breath.

"We lost everyone, Sam. We failed." Jack's gaze rose to meet Sam's, and Sam was certain his eyes pierced his heart. They reminded him of Cas, and not because they were blue. They were filled with torment. With love and with loss. Profound loss. Castiel lost heaven, Jack lost his mother, but they both gained humanity and all the suffering it offered with it. His angelic blue eyes reminded him of how Castiel came to Earth without understanding a single thing and learned to love more fiercely than any Winchester ever did. Because Sam and Dean had been given love, tender love, tough love, they were shown what love could offer, but Castiel for centuries didn't know love until he'd found Earth. Jack was _earnestness_ and _faithfulness_ just like Cas. But it didn't save Castiel or humanity. 

Sam had never seen Jack doe-eyed and vulnerable to this degree. Sam brought his hands to comb back the few dishevelled golden locks curling towards the middle of the boy's forehead.

"We can still win this." He ran his thumb across his cheek and cradled his face in his hands, "Jack. We're safe." 

Jack's lips quivered and brows knit fiercely. For a brief moment, he fought against the rising despair and splayed his hands atop Sam's wrists as tears poured out, but Sam pulled him into an embrace. Jack tucked his face against the flannel shirt, pressing his nose against Sam's shoulder.

"I lost Eileen and Cas, I won't lose you too." Sam sniffled, staring at the various soul recalling books on Jack's nightstand. _I know. I know._ He ran his hand in wide sweeping motions along Jack's back, quietly murmuring while his other hand stroked the hair above his neck. He leaned, exhausted and blinking away tears against Jack's head. He waited until Jack was quiet, the only sound was his powerful heartbeat. He couldn't tell whether it was Jack's or his own. Sam sighed and pat the boy's back.

Jack nosed his face upwards and whispered, "What are we gonna do now?"

"Win." 

Jack pulled back and grinned through his tears, "I'd like that."

Sam nodded, carefully detaching Jack from himself and standing up. Jack sat up straight, watching him as he stood.

"Oh, uh, sorry about-" He gestured vaguely towards Sam's damp shirt.

Sam snorted, "Oh this? You should see your hair, I think I matted it for eternity." Jack's fingers unconsciously ran through his hair, dimples in his cheeks.


	3. Making Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack is not unintentionally a power vacuum because that's a cop-out  
> We're killing God the old-fashioned way and bringing back some old friends (you know the Empty isn't actually empty like they want you to believe........ there's way too much potential in there)
> 
> Song recc:  
> Black Pistol Fire - Pick Your Poison

Sam finished reciting the incantation from inside the salt circle and watched a final drop of blood fall from his forearm and into the fiery spell bowl. His attention flicked upwards, regarding Jack as he gently flipped pages, seated at the library's main table.

The boy rubbed at his own bandaged forearm and slammed the book closed, "This isn't working." Sam rubbed his eyes as he exited the ring and joined Jack, whose gaze lingered on the bloodstained bowl. Suddenly his eyes caught onto the clumsy balancing act at the corner of his eye. Dean tiptoed down the half-steps, arms raised to counteract his laboured body. Sam realized his presence had probably gone unnoticed for several moments before revealing itself; like when they were children spying quietly to see if it was safe to approach before walking to where their father sat in front of the TV, beer cans tipped over by his feet. He wondered how long Dean had been listening for.

"Are you two planning to go Batman and Robin without me?" Dean grumbled, wincing at each step he took into the room. He held the book in one hand over his forehead to block the light and an empty glass bottle in the other.

Jack cleared his throat and cocked his chin up, "We're plotting. We're trying to access the Empty."

"What? We went through this, Cas is gone." Dean's eyes flashed fiercely as he retorted. He turned to the ceiling, averting their gazes. He returned his gaze, again it was void of anything but the shallow ebbing waters of grief. Exhaustion was left in the carcass of the lapping waves.

Sam bit his tongue, analyzing the slight twitches in Dean's fingertips and the shadow cast around his sleepless eyes, which fit perfectly in tandem with his unshaven and sunken face. He couldn't remember the last time Dean had left the bunker with him or Jack by his side. Then he looked at Jack, whose narrowed eyes expressed nothing but youthful determination. Sam spoke up, "Dean, we know, believe me, we do. But Chuck is waiting on our every move and we have nothing on him. No spells, no blades."

Jack elaborated, "The only place Chuck doesn't have power over is the Empty. Anything useful is hidden somewhere in hell or heaven and there's no way for us to get in. If we can't contact Cas maybe there's someone else there that can help."

Sam added to the growing list, "The Empty had to become a mess after Jack burst inside it, finding friends there would be our best bet at beating him. We just need a way in, we can get some angel-"

Dean waved his hands dismissively. "Won't work. Plus we'd need a Nephilim that's related to the winged bastard to call." 

"Uh yeah, just tested that actually. No blood relatives." Sam gave Jack a sidelong look, "On our side at least." 

Jack blinked slowly, gradually collecting his thoughts as he stared at his feet. He yawned. "Well, Cas was able to go inside the Empty, maybe I could go there-"

Sam ran his hands through his hair, "He nearly died."

Jack sighed and rest his chin on the table, crossing his arms on the wood. "Right. What now?" He glowered. 

"Holy fuck." Dean murmured.

"What? What is it?" 

"It's obvious!" Dean chewed his cheek and began pacing in his spot. "Look, the Shadow, Empty, Tim Burton's asshole, whatever- it wasn't just pissed at Billie or Cas or Jack, it's pissed at everything, it's probably made that shithole into Hell numero duo since by now. The moment we step in there we're toast." Dean's rough voice began to sound more and more like it was on the other end of a hallway. Sam suddenly realized how sleepless all of them were. 

Sam opened his mouth to give a sharp retort but held it down, exasperated, he gave Dean the floor, "Okay, so what's your great idea?"

Dean stood still, palming at his head as if it would stop it from aching. He turned and faced the two, "We can still call demons."

Jack pressed his thumb between his brows and murmured, "Lucifer is a powerful archangel, finding a ritual that can work for a demon..." 

Sam, eyes widening, "Holy shit. Maybe there _is_ another way. I think that we could summon a demon with-" he jolted from his chair and started pulling scattered papers into order, "Rowena's collected info on altering resurrection spells, especially since Charlie found out about Oz." He scanned the table, the intensity of his words filling the room, "And for demons it's actually simpler to modify the summoning spell. No guarantee that'd even work but..." Sam looked around the table with confusion. "Where's-"

"You looking for this?" Dean tossed Rowena's book and hit Sam square in the chest. He swallowed down what was left in the bottle and refreshed, clapped his hands together. His lips curled up, voice straining against the alcohol as he spoke, "Let's call Crowley."


End file.
